


partnership

by memgril



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe, F/M, Oneshot, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Time Travel, not a relationship but perhaps the start of one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 21:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18881185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memgril/pseuds/memgril
Summary: Riddle locked them in an empty classroom.





	partnership

Hermione didn’t know what to do except for wait him out.

Riddle was staring back at her, his eyes just as intense as the first time he had seen her. Neither could break their prolonged staring contest without admitting defeat. No, the other would not stop gloating about it if they did. So, they stared.

It wasn’t often that Hogwarts housed the two brightest magicals in the same year, much less the same classroom without a teacher. But Riddle wasn’t the kind of boy that lusted for such a carnal desire and would have wanted it even less with the likes of her. Still, the thought was at the back of her mind. It was the 1940s; women were not exactly safe. Women still weren’t safe in her own time, she mused.

In the end, it was a random, very loud thud that snapped them both out of their weird power play. They both flinched and turned to the noise, then immediately back to each other.

She couldn’t help it. She spoke first.

“Any longer and your cronies will suspect something,” she said.

The edge of his mouth lifted just a little. “And you would complain?”

She knew he meant to get a rise out of her. Knew it perfectly well, yet she still couldn’t keep the red that crawled to her cheeks. “Of course I would. If I really wanted someone worthwhile, I could go after someone like Malfoy.”

Riddle’s eyes narrowed. Hermione almost grinned. Who knew that all it took was to be alone with her and he would immediately show a remarkable lack of his usual charming façade.  

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that he’s a close acquaintance of mine,” he said, that same silly little smirk returning on his face. Hermione wanted to punch him. Him and his perfectly punchable face. Indeed, Malfoy answered to Riddle, even though he was older than them and graduating this year.

Hermione clenched her fist and forced herself to roll her eyes. “Alright, Riddle, this is getting boring. What do you want?”

“I see. Straight to the point. Quite the feat for a Ravenclaw,” he said, and Hermione’s arm twitched. Riddle raised a brow.

“Well?” She asked.

“A partnership,” he replied. “Mutually beneficial, of course.” Slimy. Hermione almost laughed.

“And what do I, a Ravenclaw that’s been in this school for barely half a year, have that might interest you?” He had higher grades than her, so obviously not for any academic reasons. As if Tom Riddle needed assistance in such a thing. It had pained her to hold back on tests, but she had to do it. She even cut back on her class participation; she couldn’t afford to draw unwanted attention, but it seems like she failed.

“Your Seer powers.” He said it so matter-of-facedly, so convinced of himself that Hermione couldn’t help but burst out laughing. She covered her mouth, trying to keep tears from leaking. Oh god. This was hilarious. He thought she was a Seer!

“I don’t know what I did that might give you anything close to that impression, Riddle.” Here she was, in a magically locked classroom with Tom Marvolo Riddle, future Voldemort, and he wanted her apparent Seer powers. Of all things.  

Riddle looked calm, but she had a feeling that he was going to pop a vein. “You’re a Seer, Granger. I know you are.”

“And you’re absolutely wrong. If you want a Seer, maybe ask Trelawney?” Hermione couldn’t contain her chest rising up and down. The high still hadn’t worn off. She almost let out a few giggles.

Riddle’s knuckles were turning white from gripping a desk. “I don’t want a fraud. And I have connections you want. Associates with money.”

“I’m not a Seer and I don’t want your money, Riddle. Now,” she turned around, raised her wand, and muttered _alohomora_ , “I believe I have a Charms essay to finish.”

She didn’t see his slightly open mouth, practically a full gape from him, as she effortlessly undid the most intricate and strongest locking spell he knew, and with only a simple, near quiet _alohomora._

 

The next time they spoke to one another was when he approached her in the library.

“Is this seat taken?”

Hermione, engrossed in a riveting text about what was basically akin to Muggle chemistry but in the context of Potions, did not reply.

Riddle cleared his throat particularly loudly. “Is this seat taken?” He asked again.

Hermione snapped her head up, their eyes meeting yet again. Her face paled. How had he caught her with her guard down? She needed to be more careful.

Riddle raised an eyebrow.

Hermione quickly said, “Yes, I’m sorry, but I’m waiting for my friend to come back.”

“And who would that be?” Riddle enquired smoothly. Hermione cursed.

Riddle smiled. “I thought so.”

And then sat next to her.

Next. To. Her.

The entire table was empty. And Riddle sat right next to her. Hermione was going to hyperventilate. It had been less than a week since the classroom incident, and here he was again. Too close. Too close.

Riddle must’ve noticed her hands shaking, because he remarked rather offhandedly, “I must say, I didn't think you would be scared of me.”

If Hermione wasn’t busy trying to figure out how to act calm when he was _so bloody close to her_ , she would have scoffed. Where was the Gryffindor in her? It seemed that it only took a few months in Ravenclaw for her to forget her true roots.

She had to stay.

“This is a gripping book,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Besides, it’s rather cold in here.” Which was true enough. It was mid-November after all.

Hermione jumped when she felt a very warm robe drape over her shoulder, dropping the book she was grasping in a death grip. She turned to Riddle, glaring. “A bit extreme, don’t you think?”

Riddle only smiled. “Well, I don’t think you would’ve reacted well to me casting a warming charm on you.”

Her eyes trailed his hands as they sank into his bag and he brought out a quill, some parchment, a book, and an ink bottle.

Hermione shook her head. “Why are you here?” She tried to ignore the feeling of his impossibly soft robe on her body. She should have given it back to him. Flung it back. And stomped off. But that was cowardly.

Riddle noted her staring. “The library is open to all, Granger. Do keep in mind that others use its resources as well, not only you.”

“I’m not interested in whatever you want from me,” she said with a tone of finality. Abrupt, yes, but necessary to say.  

Riddle looked amused. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, if you haven’t noticed.” With that, he turned to his parchment, elegantly dipped in a quill, and starting scratching away in his infuriatingly perfect handwriting.

Hermione snapped back to her book, trying to get absorbed into it again, but it just wasn’t the same. She couldn’t do anything because Tom Riddle was sitting next to her, doing his homework, and she was hyperaware of all his actions. She couldn’t continue taking notes because her hands were shaking so much, but she tried to be as nonchalant and unaffected as possible.

She flinched again when he stopped writing and cleared his throat.

“I heard that Prewett asked you to go to the Slug Club with him.”

Hermione almost gaped. Out of all things he could’ve asked her, he bothered with this? It was such a silly, juvenile thing. What of her Seer powers? Did Riddle believe her? Did he lose interest in that? It sounded too good to be true.  

On the outside though, she merely blinked. “And?” She had declined Prewett’s offer; his red hair and crooked grin was a persistent, painful reminder of the life she had permanently lost.

“And you rejected him.”

Hermione barked out a laugh. What’s his deal? “I did,” she said.  

“I was wondering if you would go with me,” he replied, his eyes searching for hers. His quill was dripping ink all over his essay.

Hermione spluttered, her face quickly reddening. No, no, no, this was not happening. Lord Voldemort did not just ask her to be his date to a Christmas dinner party. She was almost stunned speechless.

Almost.

She took the robe off her shoulders, ignoring the fact that they grew rather cold immediately, and almost threw it at Riddle. She didn’t dare look at him when she closed her book and got all her stuff ready. Ignore. Ignore.

Riddle hated being ignored.

“I also heard that Hector Dagworth-Granger will be there,” Riddle said, and she could hear the amusement practically dripping from his mouth.

Hermione cursed again. After Slughorn asked about their relation, she felt like she had to look it up just to be sure, but none of the ancestry books in the library had his name in it. She also knew that he had to be at least a half-blood since the Dagworths were in the books. That man was extremely hard to get a hold of as well. But it seemed too convenient.  

Maybe Riddle was lying. But he knows that she would never trust him again if he lied. It had to be true, then.   

She wasn’t planning on going to the party, but now she had to. Problem was, it was looked down upon to show up without a date. And Hermione didn’t have any. Except for Riddle.

“If I go with you, what would you want in exchange?” she asked. If he brought anything related to Seers or a _partnership_ she would instantly shut him down and go find someone else.

He just laughed. “Must everything have a deeper motive? What if I just wanted your lovely company,” he said. She could see his brown – not red – eyes almost sparkle.

Hermione frowned. “You’re Tom Riddle. You don’t do things just for the fun of it.”

“Lighten up, Granger. I just want to get to know you better.”

Alarm bells rang. Red flags were raised. Her hair was standing. Chills. Goosebumps. All the bad bad bad warnings were being pressed in her body. She had to leave.

“I’m sorry, Riddle, but I have to decline. Really, I have to finish my Potions assignment-“

Riddle stood up. Hermione resisted the urge to make herself smaller. She supposed he wasn’t used to being rejected like that, but surely people weren’t dumb enough to fall for his acts? But she knew perfectly well that they were. He was just that irresistible.

“Well,” he smiled, “that’s okay. I know how much you love schoolwork. I apologize for bothering you,” he said smoothly, so smoothly that if Hermione wasn’t fifty-something years from the future she would have been so utterly charmed and besotted, and waved a hand. Instantly, his belongings cleaned themselves up. He bent down to pick up his robe.

Hermione watched his retreating form.  

 

 

“Miss Granger! How lovely to see you here! Let me introduce you to someone I think you might find very important.”

“I would love that, Professor.”

 

 

“Were you related?”

Hermione sighed, trying to pretend like her heart wasn’t going to pound out of her body. “Will locking us in a classroom after Transfiguration become a tradition, Riddle?”

Riddle ignored her question. They stayed quiet for a while, Hermione decidedly not looking at him and Riddle boring holes into her back.

“I wonder why you continue to reject me. Any girl would be elated to have my interest,” he finally murmured.

Hermione bristled. He saw her as a conquest. Her not being interested was a challenge. What else could she have expected from a boy like him? “Well,” she started, her voice snappish, “when one is being so obvious in their attempts, surely they must realize that others see right through them.” Riddle was the fakest of the fake, the most plastic of dolls.

Riddle looked almost hurt. Hermione laughed bitterly.

“I assure you, anything I do is out of genuine interest, nothing sinister,” he said, but she saw the gleam in his eyes.

“And the _partnership_? Mutually beneficial? You want something from me, Riddle.”

“Such a Gryffindor answer! My, you are a breath of fresh air,” Riddle looked absolutely delighted. “Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about your Seer powers, though.”

“How many times do I have to say it? I’m not a Seer.” Hermione wasn’t sure if she should hit him or her for bringing up the topic.  

“There’s too much evidence against you. The way you react to things as if they’re familiar to you. The way you look at people. Can’t be because you’ve known of them before, because you’ve only been here for a short amount of time.” He was like the cat that caught the canary.

Hermione felt her heart drop. She didn’t think he would take such a personal interest in her. Sure, she had seen him looking at her occasionally but other than the first day they met she had faded into the background; just another bookish Ravenclaw.

Clearly that hadn’t fooled him, and when he set his mind on something there was close to nothing that would make him believe otherwise.

“But, Riddle, I’m Muggleborn. How can I have a hereditary trait when it’s not in my family?” Anything to make him forget about her.

“That’s why I’m asking if you’re related to Dagworth-Granger.”

It turned out that she was. Very distantly, but still, related. Hermione still considered herself Muggleborn. She wasn’t going to pretend like she was something else, even at the urging of Professor Dumbledore.  

“I wasn’t. It was just a coincidence.” Hermione sighed, as if tired. Her heart wouldn’t stop beating as if she’d just finished a sprint.

“Even if you're not a Seer, there’s something about you, Granger. Something that’s strange enough to make me think that you’re different. You’re not like the rest. And I’m going to find out what.”

Riddle unlocked the door and walked out.

Hermione fell to her knees.

How was she supposed to get out of this alive?


End file.
